


you better go catch it

by tinypersonhotel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, M/M, daichi and suga single-handedly undermine an entire scientific field
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7348174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypersonhotel/pseuds/tinypersonhotel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperate times call for desperate measures. Sometimes those desperate measures involve compromising perfectly good scientific data, but Daichi’s learned to stop being surprised when it comes to Suga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you better go catch it

**Author's Note:**

> happy bday amanda, my fellow astro babe, queen of memes, high priestess of fic!! a few months ago you sent me the birthday wish that “soft daisugas would follow me throughout the day.” they absolutely did, and i hope the same for you!!
> 
> p.s. you may recognize this prompt from your tumblo 0:^)

The heat wave, which came to be referred to as “Cruel April” by the local papers, was among the worst in Sendai’s history.

The first day, the heat was almost fascinating. People wandered around dazedly, armed with parasols and hand fans, their mouths gaping like fish washed up on shore. Daichi had to sidestep more than one half-fried egg on the asphalt on his way to class, and when he came back in evening, he found Suga trying to maneuver six boxes’ worth of ice pops into their tiny freezer, a purchase Daichi had to agree was ingenious.

After that, though, the heat was only miserable. Daichi’s lecture halls were nearly empty; the only kids coming to class were the ones without A/C, and they lingered in the computer labs and cafeterias until the vicious sun had given way to nearly-as-insufferable night. It was too hot for decent food, too hot to pretend summer had come early with flowing soumen and watermelon. The only reasons Daichi could tolerate showing up were his stubborn good attitude and close proximity to campus.

Then—two weeks into the third year of Daichi’s college education, and smack in the middle of Cruel April—his and Suga’s air conditioner broke. Daichi thought that his conception of misery until that point had been insufficient.

It was too murky in their apartment even to lie down. He and Suga would sit at the table in the kitchen with its cheap folding chairs, forearms pressed to the cool surface. Every ten minutes or so, when the plastic against their thighs became too sticky, they would crouch on the balls of their feet until the chairs cooled off again. And when sitting became too much, they would just float through the apartment eating popsicles.

They slept in their boxers on buckwheat pillows with ice packs pressed to their heads. Daichi would wake in the middle of the night with the cool sapped and the ice pack clinging to the back of his neck like an unwelcome winter scarf. The only relief was the stack of hundred or so popsicles sitting in their freezer.

On the fifth day of the heat wave, and third without A/C, Suga came home with a sunburn, a folded-up piece of paper, and a look on his face that Daichi had known since he was 15 years old meant trouble.

“Daichi, I’ve just solved all of our problems,” Suga declared, hands on his hips. He looked far too upbeat for someone whose skin had just been UV-broiled.

Daichi groaned. It was the closest he could rally to an answer—the walk from campus had nearly killed him, and he was still recovering an hour later, blinking sweat from his eyes while the weather channel continued chanting its evil premonitions in the background.

Suga smoothed the paper out across the folding table. “I found the money we need to repair the A/C.”

 

PAID RESEARCH OPPORTUNITY:  
Romantic Couples Study

Participants must be:

In a committed romantic relationship  
Dating for at least six months  
Currently living together  
Over the age of 18 

The study will have two parts and take place over the course of a weekend.  
Participants will be compensated 20000円. Contact 022-XXX-XXXX for details.

 

Daichi scanned the words over three or four times, wondering if his brain had finally melted out of his ears. “Suga,” he said slowly, “this is for couples.”

“Well, aren’t we?”

“Aren’t we _what?_ ”

Suga crossed his arms. “We’re a _couple_ of guys _over the age of 18_ who are _currently living together_ and who’ve known each other for way more than _sixth months._ ”

Daichi pressed a hand to his eyes; looking at Suga’s bright determination was starting to give him a migraine. “For someone in the sciences, I think you’re not properly disturbed by the idea of ruining someone else’s data.”

“I disagree. Science knows how to account for error.”

“We’re not swindling the social sciences department out of twenty-thousand yen.”

“And _we’re_ not going another week without A/C!” Suga uncrossed his arms; pale imprints the shape of his hands had formed against his sunburnt skin. “Daichi, look at you! You’re on the verge of heat stroke.”

“Yeah, and you look like a boiled lobster.”

Suga made an offended noise, but if his face reddened, Daichi really had no way of knowing. He made a mental note to buy aloe vera the next time he worked up the motivation to leave the apartment.

Daichi sighed. “Sorry. You know how bad I am at lying, I’d instantly blow our cover.” He found the willpower to stand and shuffled over to the freezer. “Want a popsicle?”

“Grape,” Suga grumbled.

Daichi smiled to himself. Despite the occasional bickering, theirs was a peaceful living arrangement. Grape popsicles, for example—Suga liked all the flavors Daichi hated, and vice versa.

But today, apparently, was not meant to be a peaceful day: a slippery pile of ice pops, lukewarm liquid in their plastic wrappers, rolled out of the melted freezer and onto the floor.

“Oh, shit.”

“Daichi?” Suga asked. “What’s wrong?”

“On second thought,” Daichi said, “you call the number on that poster. I’m calling the repair service.”

***

The next day was as unforgiving as the last, and Daichi didn’t even have an ice pop to look forward to for breakfast. He took his time in the near-freezing shower, careful not to nick himself shaving. He needed to look like someone who could reasonably date Suga, who was, by all accounts, a catch. Daichi himself cleaned up nicely, he thought, but three years into college (and a caffeine addiction he denied vehemently) he didn’t really clean up as often as he used to.

Daichi kept a measured distance between himself and his feelings for Suga. Most days he felt pretty okay about it, too. Suga was just the person he’d drop everything for, no matter the circumstances, probably for the rest of his life. It didn’t stop Daichi from keeping his eyes peeled at the grocery store and in the halls at school; maybe he’d get lucky and it’d be love at first sight with some stranger.

After a while, the shower warmed up to less-than-icy temperatures. Daichi groaned; he hadn’t even known that was possible. He reluctantly cut off the stream and went to change into the least wrinkled dress shirt he could find.

Daichi’s feelings weren’t the only reason he was nervous, though. He couldn’t remember the last time he had broken a rule—really, he couldn’t remember _ever_ breaking a rule. And if Daichi learned anything captaining Karasuno, it was that lies, no matter how trivial, eventually came to light.

But he was sweating just standing _still_ in his apartment, just five minutes after an arctic shower. Daichi wasn’t sure how likely it was for a healthy 21-year-old to die of heatstroke, but he was beginning to suspect one could die of misery. Especially when his good-looking roommate had begun to scorn things like _propriety_ and _wearing shirts indoors_.

He stood next to the kitchen table drinking a Coke while he waited for Suga. He was afraid if he sat, sweaty imprints would form on the back of his shorts. Soda at nine in the morning wasn’t his favorite thing, either, but no way was he drinking hot tea while the sidewalks shimmered like stovetops.

Eventually Suga emerged from his room, half-dressed and half-asleep as he fumbled his way down the hall. Daichi’s mouth twisted like he’d eaten something bitter as he watched Suga’s back disappear into the bathroom. Then, fifteen minutes later, Suga came into the kitchen looking as energetic as Daichi did after proper caffeine. He sighed and dumped the last of his Coke down the sink.

“What are you wearing?” Suga accused.

Daichi rolled his eyes. “Good morning to you, too.”

Suga pinched the starched material of Daichi’s shirt between his fingers. “You’re going to sweat right through this the second we’re out the door.”

“This is how people dress when they go on dates,” Daichi reasoned. “We want them to believe we’re a couple, remember?”

“Yeah, a couple. Not business partners.” Suga tugged at the hem of his own shirt, the color worn dull from several years of washing. “But you’re right,” he added after a moment. “It does look nice.”

Suga wasn’t wrong, though. By the time they arrived on campus, Daichi’s shirt was clinging to his back like a soaking mop. He ran it under the dryer in the bathroom before returning to Suga, who stood in the hall playing a mobile game.

Suga wiped his palms on his shorts and held out a hand. “Here,” he said, not looking up, and Daichi realized Suga’s sunburn had all but faded, because embarrassment was written all over his face now. Daichi felt relieved—both because the burn must not have been so bad, and because recognizing Suga’s anxiety quelled his own. Daichi worked up the most comfortable-looking smile he could muster and grabbed Suga’s hand.

They navigated the halls of the social sciences building to a small experiment room. It was narrow and probably a converted closet, with a folding table Daichi recognized as the same as the one in their kitchen. In the back there was a computer sitting on a metal set of drawers. A research assistant sat hunched over a stack of forms, and turned when Suga knocked on the open door and sang a hello.

“Oh,” the research assistant said, blinking behind square glasses. “You’re the couple?”

“Yep,” Suga replied, holding up his and Daichi’s linked hands. Daichi  nearly pulled away, flooded with sudden nervousness, but Suga held tight. “This won’t be a problem, will it?”

“Oh!” The RA paled. “Not at all, one of my good friends is—I mean.”

“Yeah?” Suga prodded, grinning.

“I mean—it’s fine! It won’t have any bearing on the study.” The RA looked even more embarrassed than Daichi felt, and Daichi’s shoulders relaxed. They’d already done the hardest part, after all—convincing someone they were a couple. Lying felt bad, but the rest would be easy. Right?

The RA sat them down at the table and had them sign waivers. It was a windowless closet, sure, but it was air conditioned, and Daichi wondered how long they would get to sit there, protected from the elements.

“Alright,” the RA began. “We’re going to start with a brief interview.” He opened up a voice memo on his phone and hit ‘record’. “How long have you two been together?”

Daichi was ready to tell the RA _six months_ when Suga supplied confidently, “Six years.”

Six _years_? Daichi threw a glance at Suga he hoped wasn’t too obviously panicked. Wasn’t that setting the bar awfully high?

But the answer didn’t seem to raise any red flags with the research assistant, who continued without comment. “So that would mean you met…?”

“Our first year of high school. We were in the same sports club. We took our team to Nationals our third year!”

“How often do you two argue? Frequently, sometimes, or rarely?”

“Argue?” It was Daichi who spoke this time. He and Suga looked at each other doubtfully. What counted as an argument? Was yesterday an argument? Did arguments require actually getting mad?

The RA elaborated. “Do you ever raise your voices? Make broad accusations? Maybe say something you know is a little mean, on purpose?”

“Rarely,” he and Suga said at the same time. Daichi wondered if Suga was thinking the same thing as he was: _Never._ Daichi was surprised that wasn’t an option; then again, this was an experiment for couples. Maybe this was what set them apart.

As the interview continued, so did Daichi’s fear of getting caught, which had welled up as a lump in his throat. The RA asked them how long it took them to make up when they argued, the nature of their arguments, what kind of _conflict resolution strategies_ they had in place. Suga rattled off one made-up answer after another without pause, to the extent that the RA started directing some questions at Daichi specifically. One lie Daichi could stomach; several in a row gave him indigestion. He was almost relieved when the RA asked if either of them had any allergies, just because it felt so refreshing to tell the truth.

“Great. Thank you.” The RA flipped open his notebook. “We can’t tell you what the purpose of the experiment is, of course, but all you have to do is talk to one another. And remember you’re allowed to stop if at any point you become uncomfortable.”

Daichi exhaled. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath. So he and Suga hadn’t failed the interview; they could pass for a real couple, after all. Suga patted Daichi’s hand, his expression as amused as it was sympathetic.

The RA placed a tupperware container in front of them on the table. “We’re going to work our way through a few different hypothetical scenarios,” he said. “Are you ready to proceed?”

“Go ahead,” said Suga cheerfully, though Daichi thought he caught the barest worried lilt in his voice. But at least when Suga was nervous, he only looked surrounded by a healthy, rosy glow. Daichi, on the other hand, blushed blotchy-red from his ears to his neck.

The research assistant opened the container and pulled out a single chocolate chip cookie. “I would have used popsicles, but they’d have liquefied the second I left Lawson.”

“Ha,” Daichi said, with a pang of guilt. The RA seemed like a genuinely nice person, and here they were, scamming his department first for money, now for desserts.

“Let’s say,” the RA began, “through a series of unfortunate events,  you become stranded on a desert island. The only item in your possession is this cookie. You carried its weight equally on your journey. You baked it together, or maybe you each paid half at the shop down the street from your apartment. If one thing is certain in this uncertain situation, it’s that this cookie is equally yours.”

The RA slid the cookie on a paper towel across the table, right between him and Suga.

“As you two figure out how to survive on this island, the cookie will act as the food and water you need to keep going. Sawamura-san, you’ll be playing the role of Survivor One. Sugawara-san, you’ll be Survivor Two. Any questions so far?”

The RA walked them through a few tasks, including setting up camp, building a fire, and patching their wounds from the plane crash which had stranded them on the island in the first place. Each time they resolved a scenario, he would say, “An hour passes,” and give them the option to replenish their energy with the cookie. But Suga refused each time, and Daichi, in turn, refused as well.

Night fell on the hypothetical island. The RA informed them that their energy levels were getting low.

“Suga, come on,” Daichi chided. “You have to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Suga said.

“You are,” insisted the RA. “Both of you are hungry.”

Suga turned up his nose. “I’m not eating anything until _Survivor One_ stops being so obnoxiously self-sacrificing.”

“You’re blaming _me_? You started it!”

“Only because I knew you’d pull something like this anyway.” Suga pinched his leg under the table; Daichi yelped. “I’d say I only trust you as far as I can throw you, but at this rate I’m going to be able to launch you across the island like a volleyball!”

“Oh, don’t exaggerate.”

“Sawamura-san, Sugawara-san,” the RA said patiently. “Please, I have another couple scheduled after this.”

Right. Couple. They’d let their mutually competitive natures get the better of them and totally forgotten they were supposed to be acting— _lovey-dovey_ , or whatever. Daichi reached out to Suga apologetically, careful only to touch his sleeve and not his arm, just enough to be convincing. “Look, sorry. Let’s at least split in in half.”

“Fine,” Suga huffed. He split the cookie in two, then the paper towel, and pushed one piece toward Daichi.

“Of course you didn’t break it evenly,” Daichi muttered under his breath, as if neither Suga nor the exasperated RA could hear him. Daichi broke off a piece of his portion and handed it back to Suga, who rolled his eyes. How touching.

“Well,” Suga said. “Go ahead. Take a bite.”

“I’m saving it for later.”

“Well, then I’m saving it for later, too.”

“Quit it,” Daichi complained. “I know you’re just planning on forcing your half on me later, when the situation gets desperate.”

“Speaking of desperate,” the RA said. “Another hour passes. You are now both extremely hungry.”

“Oh, come on!” Daichi snapped. The RA flinched. Daichi felt the heat seeping into his face, and he decided it was time to level with Suga. “Okay, how about this. I’ll take a bite if you take one.”

“Fine,” Suga agreed, after a moment. He picked up his half of the cookie, and waited for Daichi to follow suit.

A minute passed in silence.

“Why aren’t you eating yours?” Suga asked.

“Well, _I’m_ not going to eat it until I’m sure _you_ will.”

“Daichi!”

“Another hour passes,” the RA said. “Survivor Two, you pass out from lack of nourishment.”

“What?” Daichi sputtered. “Why not me?!”

“Because I said so,” the RA said firmly. “Survivor One, what do you do?”

Daichi panicked. “I try to feed him my half of the cookie.”

 “Alright. Survivor Two is unconscious, and cannot chew. He chokes to death.”

“What?! Suga, I’m so sorry.”

Suga smiled, a little smug. “It’s okay, Daichi. At least now you’ve got twice as much food.”

Daichi glared.

“Survivor One, what do you do now?” asked the RA.

Daichi didn’t break eye contact with Suga. “Nothing.”

“Daichi,” Suga warned. “Eat the cookie. You have to.”

“No talking, Survivor Two. You’re dead.”

“Then I’m a ghost!”

“That’s not within the parameters of the experiment,” the RA said, scribbling something down on his clipboard. “Survivor One has to make the decision on their own. By the way, another hour passes. What do you do?”

“Nothing,” Daichi repeated.

“An hour passes.”

Daichi shook his head.

“Daichi!” Suga clamped a hand painfully around his arm, looking genuinely alarmed.

“Survivor Number One, you pass out from lack of nourishment. Several hours pass, and you die.”

“Oh my _god_.”

Daichi put up his hands. “I was only trying to help!”

“Well, great job! We’re both dead!”

The RA clapped. “Alrighty, I think that’s enough for now.” He hit ‘end’ on his recording app, and Daichi swore inwardly—he’d forgotten their whole performance was going to end up on _tape_. And for use by _scientists._

And what could the RA have possibly been writing that whole time? ‘Utterly incompatible?’ ‘The worst romance of all time?’ ‘Should just break up already?’ Daichi stomach sank like a rock. As the RA put away the tupperware container, Daichi swallowed his fear and sneaked a glance at the clipboard. _Extended periods of eye-contact_ —ugh, somehow that was even more mortifying; he wished he could find the nearest ditch and climb inside. At least it’d be cool in there.

“Thanks for your help today, guys,” the RA said, not insincerely. “Are you okay to come back tomorrow for part two?”

“Sure,” Suga said. He looked a little glum. Daichi fought the urge to grab his hand a second time as they left the room and made their way back out into the unforgiving heat.

Daichi wasn’t sure what this experiment proved, except if that he and Suga were trapped on a desert island together, they would almost certainly die.

***

They ate lunch at a cheap place in the train station. The food wasn’t any good, but they managed to grab a table right below an air vent, and they lingered there drinking as much cool barley tea as guilt would allow.

The sun was at its excruciating peak by the time they emerged from the station. The heat rising from the asphalt made the whole world look uncertain, like a mirage. As they trudged their way up the winding hill to their apartment complex, Daichi tried to dispel his sluggishness, from the food and the heat. He wanted to talk to Suga about the study before they got back.

He was kind of scared, though.

He and Suga hadn’t been lying when they told the research assistant their conflicts were never long-standing. But this—Daichi’s feelings—weren’t a conflict. A conflict, he thought glumly, takes two.

Daichi sighed.

“Sigh number three, ha,” Suga exclaimed, though he was panting out of breath from the climb. “Say what you mean, Daichi.”

Daichi squeezed his eyes. A bead of sweat fell into the crease of his left eye. “I think we should quit the experiment.”

“Hmm, you’ll change your mind the second we’re home. Did you forget our apartment is baking us alive?”

“I don’t care. I’m really not comfortable with this.”

Suga paused, peered over his shoulder. He studied him with intimidating coolness, and Daichi wished he could shrink.

“Why not?” Suga asked, after a minute.

“I don’t like lying.”

Suga waved a hand and resumed walking. “I told you, it’s fine. We’re not going to undermine the whole field of sociology messing with one undergraduate decision-making study.”

“I’m not worried about the field of sociology.”

“Then what are you worried about?” Suga’s eyebrows were pinched together as Daichi looked at him, pushing perspiration down the slope of his nose. He felt sick to his stomach and wished desperately to rewind the conversation, but still he was unable to look away from Suga’s intense expression.

Daichi took a deep breath, and for a moment he almost said what he really meant. But his stomach lurched at the last second, and he abandoned ship. “It just feels weird, okay?”

“Weird,” Suga repeated. Crap, Daichi wondered, did he sound annoyed?

And now, before Daichi had even realized it, they were back in the apartment. Boy, he had not timed this well.

Suga kneeled in the entryway and tugged at the straps on his sandals. “You can take first shower,” he told Daichi, without looking up.

“It’s fine,” Daichi said. “Go ahead.”

“I’m not half as sweaty as you.”

“That’s why you should go first. I take longer than you.”

“It’s not like we’re going to run out of cold water.”

“Yeah, well, I went first this morning.”

Suga stood with a huff. He looked Daichi straight in the eye; it took all Daichi’s willpower not to flinch. This wasn’t even their first stubborn stand-off of the day, and it was barely past noon. Probably the heat really _was_ driving them nuts. Daichi couldn’t help it; he grinned and said softly, “You’re so weird.”

But it was the wrong thing to say. Daichi realized it before Suga could repeat it bitterly, _weird,_ again—was Daichi _actually_ brain-dead? Suga kicked off his other sandal and stomped into the kitchen. Daichi followed; Suga stood with his shoulders hunched and his face stuck in the freezer, like there might be any cool air left to sooth his feverish skin.

“Suga?” Daichi asked after a minute.

Suga took a deep breath and straightened his back. Much to Daichi’s relief, he wasn’t—crying. Why did Daichi think Suga would cry? Daichi felt his hand move again, like it did after the experiment, but this time he let it find its way to Suga’s, curling his fingers around Suga’s palm uncertainly.

“What are you doing?” Suga’s laugh was humorless as Daichi traced his fingers over Suga’s.

“Practicing,” Daichi replied as evenly as he could manage, though he was sure Suga could feel his heart thrumming in his fingertips. “You’re right. Let’s not drop the experiment. It’s too hot in here to think.”

Suga’s eyes remained fixated on their hands for another moment. Then he pulled back and said, “No, it’s okay. I’ll call and tell them to discard our data.”

 “Suga,” Daichi laughed, reaching out again. “Come on—”

Suga pulled back, bumping the freezer door shut with his head. “I don’t care. I’ll use my part-time money to fix the A/C, I don’t need to go home for Golden Week.” He looked past Daichi nervously, over his shoulder. “Sorry, I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Wait,” Daichi said. Suga didn’t.

“I’m sorry I said it was weird,” Daichi continued, following Suga into the hall. Suga didn’t say _it’s okay_ or smile or anything, but he stopped moving, hands at his sides, waiting.

For all the time Daichi spent repressing his feelings, he had also spent plenty of time imagining what it would be like if he ever told Suga the truth. He felt like a jerk, suddenly, for how many times that day he had complained about how much he hated lying.

Because like, technically—he lied to Suga every day.

He let his eyes fall to the linoleum tile. “Suga, I don’t want to do the experiment if it’s pretend. I only want to do it if it’s real.”

“It’s kinda too late for that.”

“Is it?” Daichi asked. “If it is, then we never have to talk about it again. Just—tell me if it’s too late, Suga.”

“What the hell, Daichi?” He wasn’t looking at Suga, still, but he sounded angry, and boy, Daichi was really messing this up big time, wasn’t he.

Daichi, as a policy, did not burn bridges.

And yet somehow, here he was—smack in the middle of a big old burning bridge. He could retreat, beg Suga to pretend the conversation had never happened—or he could make a run for likely unstable ground. Either way, he had to make a swift escape.

“I mean it,” Daichi pressed on. “Most of the time I already feel like I’m already pushing my luck getting to be your best friend. But I would be more, if I knew I could. I don’t think anything could ever change that.” Daichi meant it more than he’d ever meant anything; then embarrassment caught up with him like a flood. “Or—or something! Sorry!”

Seconds—the longest of Daichi’s life—passed, and then Suga was in front of him, his hands on Daichi’s sweat-soaked sleeves.

“Quit being so dramatic,” Suga said. “And don’t apologize.”

Daichi felt like the wind had been knocked out of him—then he realized it _had_ , by Suga, who had landed a punch on Daichi’s midsection as fearsome as any he had in high school.

“Holy shit, Suga, really?”

Suga shrugged. “It’s too hot to hug.”

“So _punching_ me is the second best thing?” Daichi shook his head, but felt himself smiling. “Has it ever occurred to you that you might be too old to go around punching people?”

“Absolutely not,” Suga said. “And Daichi, you know, if we’re ever really trapped on a desert island?”

“Yeah?”

Suga grinned. “I wouldn’t do a fucking thing differently.”

Daichi sighed. “I know that.”

“Your feelings can suck it, Daichi. If we’re on a desert island, I mean.”

“Right, got it. Avoid desert-island type situations at all costs.”

“But if I had to get stranded on a desert island, of course I’d want it to be you.”

“Of course.” Daichi squeezed his hand. “Rain check on cuddling?”

Suga squeezed back. “Don’t jinx us, now.”

***

The heat broke that night, with thunder rattling the windows and rain running rivers down the street. Still, in the morning, he and Suga went back for the part two of the experiment—after all they put that poor research assistant through, they figured it was the least they could do.

**Author's Note:**

> HEY AMANDA IS UR FREEZER RUNNING? THEN YOU BETTER GO CATCH IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


End file.
